The Coach
by cactusnell
Summary: Sherlock needs some advice on an important matter - but whose? Brother or best friend? Sherlolly


Sherlock Holmes was behaving very unlike Sherlock Holmes, bouncing a baby on his knee and actually giggling. It was a sound that John Watson heard so seldom that he was struck virtually silent. But he did continue to look at his friend with affection as he then tickled his godchild into submission, her tiny laughter blending seamlessly with the detective's own. But Sherlock became suddenly silent as he looked over at his friend, and posed a question.

"John, are you happy?"

"Of course I'm happy. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, you're married to a former assassin who shot your best friend, who happens to be a high-functioning sociopath."

"Yeah. So what's not to be happy about? My wife is a former assassin, operative word here being former. She's an expert shot, so she didn't kill my best friend, just damaged him. And you're not a 'high-functioning sociopath', you just like to call yourself one because it sounds more glamorous than calling yourself a socially challenged arsehole!"

"You still haven't answered my question, John," Sherlock said, sounding rather serious. "Are you happy? Does all this...this...domesticity make you happy? Are you content with your life?"

John studied him for a moment before answering, seriously, "Yeah, mate, I'm happy. Really."

"Ah!"

"Why are you asking, anyway?"

"I have lately come to the conclusion that the natural inclination of human beings, as with most other animal species, is to find a , uh, partner, or mate, or significant other, whatever you want to call it, and settle into a comfortable life. Reproduce, eventually. I have come to believe that we are not designed to live out our lives alone. I suppose I have you to blame for this…"

"Now, Sherlock, you know that Mary and I..."

"Oh, for god's sake, John, don't flatter yourself. I was not suggesting that I consider you, in any way, my significant other! Not that you are insignificant. It's just that, well, I have never been so inclined…"

"Lighten up, Sherlock. It was a joke! But please go on with your comments. I'm finding this all very interesting. Just keep tickling the kid, though. She gets very angry if you stop paying attention to her, and she has her mother's temper."

"Really?", the detective asked, looking down into the child's frowning face and stormy eyes, and quickly resumed the tickling. "Well, John, I have recently been considering the possibility of settling down myself. I find that I am not as comfortable with my solitude as I used to be. You and Mary have certainly given me an example of a workable marriage, even in the face of some rather dire circumstances. My parents have managed to stay married, quite disgustingly blissfully, for almost fifty years. So, I know that marriage, no matter my previously held convictions, can be truly beneficial."

"Sherlock, in all the time I've known you, you've shown interest in only one woman. And she's dead!"

"Ah, you mean The Woman. And I must tell you, John, that she was alive and well when last I saw her, in Karachi…"

"Alive?! Does Mycroft know?"

"I assume he must by this time. But that is of no consequence. What does it matter, in any case? Irene is hardly the type to settle down and raise little ones. She's more the type who would prefer to eat her young! Why would you jump to the conclusion…"

"It's not Janine, is it? A know you used her for the case, but you did see quite a bit of her, both literally and figuratively, Sherlock…"

"John, I assure you that I may have seen quite a bit of her socially, I saw very little of her, scarcely anything, physically…"

"Well, she did write those articles…"

"Janine has a very vivid imagination, John. For which she was well paid."

"Then this is all a rather indeterminate plan for the future? No definite goal, or time table? Just something you feel you may be interested in pursuing…"

But Sherlock Holmes was looking at his friend, studying him, surprised that he had no idea of whom he was speaking. He felt both relieved and disappointed. Relieved that no further teasing was forthcoming, but disappointed in the sense that his best friend had no idea where his affections lie. Had he really treated her so callously, so distantly that even John Watson had no suspicion of the regard in which he held her? And if John had no idea, what of the woman herself? Perhaps he should seek a second opinion.

Sherlock had reached an uneasy detente with his elder brother Mycroft some time ago. The brothers had been very close when they were young, but the younger sibling, as is often the case, grew to resent his brother's meddling in his life. That this meddling was, for the most part, caused by true brotherly concern, especially about his drug use, was of no consequence. And the fact that it was accompanied by Mycroft's superior attitude did nothing to ease the situation. But during Sherlock's two year absence dismantling Moriarty's network, Mycroft had looked after his friends, protecting them from any possible threat, and Sherlock was grateful. Especially in the case of his pathologist, Dr. Molly Hooper. Molly had helped the detective, and his brother, fake his death, and thus was the only one in their circle of friends who was privy to the secret of his survival. Mycroft had come to know her well, and respect her, during his brother's absence, and had developed an odd friendship with the young woman, even though he seemed even less likely than his brother to form such attachments. And Sherlock had learned to trust his elder brother, and value his opinion, at least on certain topics. Perhaps he could offer some valuable insights into Sherlock's current problem.

The two men were sitting in the study of Mycroft's home later on that evening. Mycroft had been surprised by his brother's visit, as he couldn't remember the last time Sherlock had graced his home with his presence, and couldn't resist commenting.

"So, brother mine, what disaster brings you to my door at this hour of the night? Has Moriarty risen from his grave yet again? Perhaps the Adler woman has invited you, once again, to 'dinner'?"

"Moriarty is dead, and Adler isn't, as you well know, it seems. No, nothing so trivial as those two, Mycroft. I've come to actually ask you for some advice…"

Mycroft pretended shock. Or perhaps it wasn't a pretense. "Advice, brother? You haven't asked for my advice since you were in first year and wanted to know if you should give up the violin…"

"You advised me to stay the course, though I suspect that was less because of your belief in my talent, and more because you were off to Uni and no longer exposed to my rather screeching practice sessions."

"Yes, well, be that as it may, I was proven correct. You have improved significantly, although I still sense trouble with Concerto Number 2 by Wieniawski…"

"Do shut up, brother! I need advice, and it should go to show you how important the matter is if I am here seeking yours!"

"My apologies. I shall save my critique for a more appropriate time. Do go on."

"Do you agree that our parents have been happily married, Mycroft?"

"I suppose so. The do seem to giggle quite a bit. Mummy has embraced Papa's love of country music, and Papa can be persuaded to go to the occasional West End musical. after all…"

"But you do believe that they are happy, Mycroft?"

Mycroft Holmes was beginning to sense an urgency in his brother's question, and decided to treat it more seriously. "Yes, Sherlock, I believe they are very happy together. So much so that I cannot begin to imagine them apart, and dread the day when the inevitable will happen…"

"Mycroft, I am considering marrying." Sherlock said the words quietly, half expecting his brother to argue with him. So it came as a not inconsiderable surprise when that brother merely looked him in the ee and simply said, "I see."

"That's all you have to say, brother? 'I see.' No lecture on love being a chemical defect, that sentiment is found on the losing side…"

"I may have been mistaken. Love, while certainly a chemical reaction, is not always a defect. And sentiment can be found on either side, both winning and losing. I may even argue that it was love which kept you alive, Sherlock. And I have been witness to many a couple simply awash in chemicals, and none the worse for wear. You have formed a number of attachments in your life, brother, and I am not at all surprised that one has taken precedence over the others…"

"You know of whom I speak…"

"Of course I do. I am the smarter one, after all."

"John has no idea, Mycroft. Do I appear so detached that my best friend can't imagine my caring for someone in this way? Do I appear so inhuman, so cold…"

"Not inhuman, Sherlock. Just not so human as most. And John is so wrapped up in his own family, perhaps he doesn't notice the obvious signs around him. Tell me, have you broached the subject with Dr. Hooper?"

'Not as yet. I don't like feeling this insecure, brother. This unsure of myself…"

"Yes, I can see where that might be a new feeling to you. But perhaps it will give you an edge. Desperation can sometimes help, you know," Mycroft said with a small chuckle.

"Do you think she will be amenable to the idea, Mycroft? I mean, marriage?"

"Sherlock, have you ever even dated the woman? Taken her to dinner? Kissed her anywhere aside from her cheek?"

"Her forehead, on occasion!"

"Sherlock, perhaps you should take this slowly. Try not to frighten her off. Let Mummy do that!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Mycroft. Mummy only frightens you and Papa…"

"And you, brother dear!"

"Granted. But why should a marriage proposal frighten her off? We've known each other for years! What's left to discover about each other?"

"Sherlock, I know Molly Hooper. She cares very deeply for you, and always has. But you must admit that your behavior toward her has not always been admirable. Perhaps you are no longer the Prince Charming you once appeared to be…" Saying this, Mycroft broke into laughter. "Sorry, brother, I simply could not keep a straight face at that 'Prince Charming' reference!"

"I can be charming, Mycroft. But do I really need to be? I'll just simply present my case, and ask the question. Molly is a woman of above average intellect. She will surely see that…"

"Sherlock, I must point out that even myself, with my admittedly limited knowledge of all things romantic, do not for one moment believe that a woman would rather be complimented on her brain than her beauty when faced with a proposal of marriage." Mycroft heaved a sigh, concerned that his brother was, much like he feared himself to be, headed for a life of confirmed bachelorhood. "Sherlock, please, for the love of god, just tell her you love her, that you want to marry her, and let her take it from there. Do not turn a proposal of marriage into a scheme for some kind of merger! In short, don't be yourself! Look at her, really look at her, and imagine your life without her. Perhaps that fear will help you loosen up."

"I'll take your words under advisement, brother. But there will be plenty of time for sentiment after the wedding. I need to convince her first…"

"Sherlock, I don't believe Molly will need much convincing if you just speak honestly…"

"Well, we'll see. I'll let you know, of course. I plan to see her tomorrow."

"So soon?"

"No use wasting any more time, is there. Good night!" And with that, the detective rose from his chair, actually smiled at his brother, and took his leave.

The following afternoon, Sherlock Holmes made his way to St. Bart's, timing his arrival to coincide with the end of Molly Hooper's shift. He had thought of taking her to dinner, but decided against it. Perhaps they could go for some chips after she had accepted his proposal. This shouldn't take long, and he was feeling a bit peckish. But the truth was that he was becoming more and more nervous the closer he got to the morgue. He had his speech all prepared. She could not deny the logic of the situation, so her answer, of course, would be positive. He took one last deep breath, and entered through the swinging doors.

Molly was just putting on her coat to leave. She had removed the ponytail from her hair, and now swept an arm under it to lift it out of the way of her collar. She looked up and smiled when she saw him enter. My god, she's beautiful, Sherlock thought. Perhaps Mycroft was right. Should he mention her beauty in his proposal? Her brown eyes? Her gentle manner? But, no, he couldn't risk going off script now.

"Molly, could I have a few words with you?"

"Now, Sherlock? Do you need something? I was just leaving, but if you…"

"Molly, sit down for a moment, will you? I have something which we need to discuss."

The small woman was beginning to become a bit nervous. When Sherlock spoke so seriously in the past it usually meant he was going away, or had relapsed on the drugs, or perhaps had killed someone. None of the aforementioned topics was anything she wished to hear about again. She eased herself onto a lab stool and waited anxiously.

"Molly, we have known each other for seven years. I know that you have harbored romantic feelings for me, and I have come to the conclusion that this is not a disadvantageous situation. We are both of an age where we are secure in our careers, and it is now time to think about where our personal lives are going. Our professional careers are complementary. Your assistance has proven invaluable to me on numerous occasions, and I feel I have contributed to your scientific endeavors. We are both in good health, and seem to have compatible temperaments, meaning, if I were to be completely honest, that you put up with me when nobody else can. I am becoming more and more unhappy in my solitary life, and I feel that you, also, desire companionship. I believe that we can have a more than satisfying life together, and know that we can be adequate parents to any children which we may choose to have. What do you say?"

Molly sat there looking stunned for the briefest of moments, then her eyes started to glaze over. Sherlock had been exposed to enough people of the female variety to sense the beginning of happy tears, an oxymoron he still found simply hard to comprehend. He looked at his Molly with a small smile. That is until he heard her say, "Thank you, Sherlock. I appreciate the offer, but no thanks."

To say the detective was a bit stunned was an obvious understatement. His mouth started to move, but no actual words came out. Before he could compose himself further, Molly Hooper had pushed her way past him, and made her way of of the morgue, leaving him feeling as alone, and cold, and dead inside as any of the cadavers in residence. He was remembering his brother's words about picturing his life without Molly Hooper in it, and letting fear be his motivation. But it was not fear he was feeling at the moment, only despair.

Molly, meanwhile, had made her way to the street, but was too distraught to head for the tube. She needed to find a quiet spot to think, to clear her head. She had just turned down a marriage proposal from the love of her life. But one that sounded more like the terms of a corporate merger than any romantic liaison she had ever heard of. And that was not what she wanted. She held herself in much higher esteem than to settle for such an arrangement, even if Sherlock Holmes didn't. She was still walking aimlessly away from the hospital when the large black car pulled slowly to the curb next to her, and the door opened. She had become accustomed, over the past several years, to such occurrences, and, with a sniff and a heavy sigh, climbed into the back seat next to Mycroft Holmes. The older man quickly told his driver to move on, then turned to study his companion. He, of course, being the smarter brother, immediately recognized that the tears currently forming in her eyes were anything but happy tears. He slowly wrapped one arm around her shoulder and patted her back, allowing her to finally let go.

'He's quite the fool, you know. I take it you turned him down?" Mycroft said, still holding her heaving shoulders.

"Yes. How did you know? Did he tell you that he intended to propose"

"He did. May I ask why you turned him down? I may not be the most romantic man in the world, but even I can tell that you love him, perhaps too much."

"Yes," Molly sniffed, finally regaining her composure a bit. "But he doesn't care for me. At least not like that. And I can't endure a relationship so one-sided. It just hurts too damned much!"

"Ah! Then I take it he went with the 'rational arrangement' type of proposal, instead of following my suggestions. He really is a git, you know. I don't know what you see in him, Dr. Hooper!"

"Your suggestions?"

"Let me paraphrase my addlepated brother, shall I? He told you all the reasons why you should marry him, without once mentioning that it was what he truly wanted? He emphasized your affection for him, without declaring the fact that it is returned in kind?" Molly nodded. "Did he at least leave out the limitations he was suggesting about your accumulation of children, and cats?" Molly again nodded, but this time with a bit of a smile. Mycroft usually managed to get a smile out of her, even when she was at her lowest. "Just as I feared. My only question now, Molly, is, given the fact that my brother loves you very much, and wants to marry you more than anything, and despite the fact that he is, evidently, patently incapable of expressing these facts, are you going to let him get away?"

"No!", the pathologist said with striking determination.

"Good. Now compose yourself. Fix your face. I'll drop you at Baker Street where you can give the arsehole a piece of your mind before you show him the proper way to propose. I'll tell you exactly how to do it. Right?"

Molly Hooper was now dabbing at her eyes with a crumpled tissue found in the bottom of her purse, and listening intently to Mycroft's pointers. When they arrived at Baker Street, she hurried from the car and up the stairs to find the great detective sitting morosely in his favorite chair. She approached him with determination, looked him right in the eye, and said. "Sherlock Holmes, I love you. And I want to marry you!' Then she stood before him, waiting for him to make the next move.

Sherlock blinked up at her. "Have you been talking to Mycroft, Molly?"

"Of course I have. Only I'm smart enough to listen to him!" Molly said with an air of determination. "Are you going to answer me, or not?"

"Was there a question there, Dr. Hooper?" 

"Sherlock, please…"

"Well, since you asked so nicely, I shall be happy to marry you, Molly, and…" but he could get out nothing further as the woman launched herself onto his lap and proceeded to snog the life out of him. When the necessity of breathing forced them to separate, Sherlock spoke, "Molly, perhaps we should discuss the number of children, or cats…" But his words were once again smothered by her lips on his. Ah, he thought, he must remember to bring up that subject again, when he felt in need of a good snog. Or something more!


End file.
